


30 year old Mandy wrote this

by where_havealltheflowers_gone



Series: If the Milkoviches were poets [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic, Homophobia, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:45:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/where_havealltheflowers_gone/pseuds/where_havealltheflowers_gone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So let's pretend Karen and Mandy had an established relationship for a long time and they had a dumb fight and Karen leaves and marries a dude</p>
    </blockquote>





	30 year old Mandy wrote this

**Author's Note:**

> So let's pretend Karen and Mandy had an established relationship for a long time and they had a dumb fight and Karen leaves and marries a dude

I wasn't going to write this poem.

Mainly because I've written it already 

With contorted words on tea stained pieces of paper,

On every Sharpie I take to blank bathroom tiles,

On messy kitchen tables with strained vegetable soup letter.

I wasn't going to write this poem,

But every time I get the familiar ache in my gut, 

I pull out the box you forgot on the day

You slammed the front door of our shared apart shut

And your unspoken goodbye

Echoed off these every widening halls

And looking at your picture makes me feel a little less achey. 

I wasn't going to write this poem,

But today I heard from a friend of a friend

That you and your husband are having a baby,

And my first thought was that I shouldn't have had to hear that from a friend of a friend.

My second thought was that time we sat under the El,

And you held my hand and told me your father had ensured

That you would never be able to love a man.

I wasn't going to write this poem,

But I guess even after 10 years of silence,

I am still waiting on a knock on the door,

An unexpected phone call with your voice down the line, 

A letter with words of explanation under my windshield wiper. 

I wasn't going to write this poem,

But I woke up today worrying about you

Because I can't seem to figure out if you married your husband

Because you truly changed your opinion of men

Or if you did it because you knew it's what your mother wanted.  

Or if you did it because of the heated stares we always got when we walked down the street hand in hand

Or if you still remember the time my dad chased you out of our house with a frying pan because he said what we were was disgusting.  

I wasn't going to write this poem,  

But my eyes still search for your face 

When I enter a crowded room,

Taking the features from others

And smashing them together until they somewhat resemble you

Just so I can see you again. 

I still listen for your voice

When I approach a group of people deep in conversation. 

I wasn't going to write this poem, 

But I woke up yesterday with your laughter ringing in my ears

And the knowledge that it's probably changed in the decade since I last heard it.

I can still feel your fingers

Ghosting over the knobs in my spine. 

I swore I wouldn't write this poem

Because every time I write  _this_ poem, 

The words are different 

But it still sounds the same.

And you would think

After so much time and so many poems,

I would have said everything I needed to say

But how can I help it if every time I take pen to paper,

All that comes out if your memory? 

I wasn't going to write this poem,

But I still feel like a piece of me is missing

And I wonder if sometimes,

You feel empty too. 


End file.
